Cowboy Wolf Trouble

by Kait Ballenger

  “And here.” He dropped his head between her thighs, his lips brushing against her pussy through the soaked fabric of the underwear. He inhaled the scent of her sex, his lips grazing against her clit, promising all the heat and pleasure she knew he could give with his mouth. He hadn’t even gotten her naked, and already she was on the verge of coming.

  “I want to hear you say it.” His hand returned to her center, circling her clit and probing her folds through the material. “Prove me a liar.” He met her gaze. Those golden wolf eyes bore into hers, staring at her from between her legs.

  She gasped for breath. “I…” Her back arched, and she struggled to hold herself upright.

  He stood. With his free hand, he cradled her lower back, supporting her in his arms as she writhed at his touch. She was on the edge, nearly ready to shatter.

  “Prove me a liar,” he whispered. “If you don’t want me, I’ll stop. Right now.”

  “I…I…” She couldn’t say the words. She did want him. Every inch of her pulsed with need. She eagerly pushed her hips forward, pressing her clit harder against his hand. “I want you,” she panted.

  “Fuck,” he swore. He tore the wet fabric of the boxers aside, finally touching her beneath her clothes. The callused pad of his thumb flicked over her most sensitive flesh in one swift movement, sending her over the edge.

  White-hot ecstasy rolled over her as she fell apart in his arms. Her orgasm came on rough and hard. She threw back her head and moaned, arching and bucking against his palm as she lost herself. She collapsed into him as the last waves of pleasure rolled through her. He hadn’t lied about knowing what to do with his hands.

  As she caught her breath, she lifted her head to meet his gaze. Their lips were so close to brushing; they hovered mere inches away. She’d told herself it was only heat between them that first night, a product of adrenaline and circumstance, but she knew now that was the worst kind of lie. It was more than heat. She wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them, to explore the budding fire of emotions kindled in her chest. Whatever it was, he wanted it, too. There was longing in his eyes as clear as day.

  She leaned forward.

  He turned away from her, offering no more than his cheek. “I’m no liar,” he part whispered, part growled. He started to pull away.

  “Wes.” She reached for him.

  He caught her wrist gently in his hand.

  “Don’t.” The raw pain reflected in his face cut her to the core.

  Without another word, he released her. He turned away and stalked out of the stables and into the rain. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her in the sudden silence and stillness, his damp boxers clinging to the skin of her thighs, and her heart thudding as she stared after him.

  * * *

  Wes tore out of the stable like a bat out of hell. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going. He just knew he needed to get out of there. Away from the scent of wildflowers on her hair, away from the feel of her smooth skin, the soft, slick heat of her pussy.

  Away from her.

  Without looking back, he stripped off his clothes and shifted. Run. He needed to run. As far as his legs would take him. He bounded up the mountainside. His emotions mixed into a powerful concoction, fueling him. Anger at himself and the whole damn situation. Frustration with his lack of control. Regret over the past that had dictated his life. And desire…for what he knew he couldn’t have. For everything that was forbidden to him. She’d been wet for him. So wet. The moment when his thumb had circled her hot folds through the material and she’d fallen apart in his arms, he’d almost forgotten what he was, who he was. He’d spent the past years paying penance, ensuring he would never forget. Yet only minutes with her in his arms, and he’d lost himself. Until the weight of her trust had crushed him. He didn’t deserve that trust.

  The only thing that had ever been created from his hands was destruction. And when he lost himself to raw emotion, there was no other result. It was the only thing he was certain of.

  If he stayed, this woman would be the death of him.

  So he ran. He ran until his four legs ached, until darkness shrouded the trees. His muscles burned with the intensity of his pace, but he didn’t care. He’d run until he couldn’t run anymore. So the past wouldn’t catch up with him.

  He skidded to a stop somewhere in the middle of the forest long after the rain had stopped. Throwing back his head in agony, he howled at the rising moon. The sound echoed off the nearby pines. The long, drawn-out howl sent a flock of sleeping birds skittering away from their perch.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he was back there. In that awful room. The coppery smell of blood filling his nose. He’d stood face-to-face with death before, having killed with his own two hands. But her death had been different. Because she’d been innocent. Because she hadn’t deserved to die. Nolan and Donnie had lied to him, manipulated him, and he’d been too lost in a different kind of emotion that was as consuming, as powerful—and equally as destructive—to realize.

  He knew what he needed to do.

  Turning tail, he bolted back to Wolf Pack Run in a frenzied fury, running like a madman. When he reached the tree line, he shifted into human form and collected his discarded clothes, throwing on his jeans. The material reeked with the scent of her, with the tantalizing smell of her sex. He dragged the shirt off. It made his mouth water and his cock instantly hard.

  Naomi. He trained his senses forward. He could scent her in the stables, hear her pacing the length of the packed floors. He’d wondered—briefly—if she might walk back to the main compound or if she’d hunker down and wait to tear a strip out of him. The latter, definitely the latter. And no more than he deserved.

  This was his realm—the stables and rugged mountain terrain—and his fellow Grey Wolves knew that. And as Malcolm had seen, an attack on Naomi would constitute an attack on him. No alpha in this pack, save for the alpha himself, was fool enough to do that. Naomi would be safe within the stables for the time being.

  He cut across the west pasture, past the mess hall and neat rows of cabins, straight to the compound. He burst inside the main building and tore through the halls. He didn’t stop until he reached the tech room adjacent to Maverick’s office.

  Maverick would have had Blaze gather the intel once Wes had delivered the news. Accessing the pack’s intelligence was something Wes had done hundreds of times to keep himself up to date on the movements of his former pack. And with Blaze as their computer expert, he’d memorized the wolf’s schedule like clockwork, knowing the exact times the wolf was and was not in his office. It’s how he’d known that something was stirring among them, why he’d chosen to defy Maverick’s orders and meet with Kyle to learn exactly what that something was. Now that Maverick had cut him out of the fray, just after the Wild Eight had made an attempt on Wes’s life, it was more important than ever.

  Not to mention that after everything that had passed between them, he needed to know once and for all if he could trust this woman. His instincts urged him to, but Maverick’s words and his past made him doubt those instincts. Breaking into the data the Grey Wolves had gathered would leave no place for doubt.

  But this time was different.

  Because if Maverick found out, Wes—and Naomi by proxy—would be dead.

  Slowly, he inched toward the control room. He needed to know. He’d been telling Maverick for years that the Wild Eight would resurge, and look where the hell that had gotten him. The Wild Eight had teamed up with the vamps. The thought alone sent his blood boiling.

  At this hour of the night, the pack’s satellites operated on autopilot unless otherwise needed, and most of the alphas were on patrol, unless it was their night off. Ripping the door open, he expected to find the control room empty. Instead, he stood face-to-face with Blaze.

  This time, his packmate’s damn Hawaiian shirt was a startling flamin
go pink with tropical palm trees at the bottom. “Coming to take my username for another spin?” A scowl curled over Blaze’s lips.

  Wes didn’t respond. He contemplated telling Blaze he’d been looking for Maverick, but it would have been a bold-faced lie. Maverick was hardly ever in the control room, unless they were in active recon mode. And as he’d told Naomi, he was no liar.

  And Blaze knew it, too.

  He and Blaze may not have been enemies, but they were hardly friends. Blaze had taken it upon himself to use every opportunity to figuratively screw Wes up the ass ever since Wes had stepped into the pack. Blaze was annoying as all get out but ultimately a harmless thorn in his side, like an annoying fly that he couldn’t shoo away. Not that Wes could say he blamed him. Had he suddenly been expected to be buddy-buddy with his sworn enemy, he would have thrown up equal resistance. Hell, Maverick had spared his life. He now called the man packmaster, but Wes still held a deep rivalry with the bastard, though that was now dampened by mutual admiration, by respect for the only man worthy to be called his rival.

  Blaze stood from his desk chair, gripping the back of the leather seat. “You know what I’m talking about. You’ve been hacking my username to peruse files for the past several months. I’ve got a tracker set up that alerts my phone every time my log-in is accessed. You figured out my password.”

  Wes cocked an eyebrow. No sense trying to hide it then. “Blaze-ing Saddles? Really?”

  Blaze chuckled. “You don’t like my sense of humor?”

  Wes shrugged. “Not particularly.”

  Blaze’s frown returned, and he stepped toward Wes. “What happens if I tell Maverick about your little foray into the pack’s classified files?”

  Wes’s jaw tightened. “We both know this isn’t a fight you want to pick. That’s not why you’re here. You’re an annoying ass, but you’re not stupid enough to try to take me on, or you would have done so by now. We both know that.”

  A spark of anger flickered in Blaze’s eyes. Wes had hit a nerve. Blaze was a valiant fighter, a superior warrior, but in a pack of equally impressive alphas, he was nothing more than average. Only his tech skills set him apart.

  Taking on Wes one-on-one would maybe calm his anger, make him feel like a man.

  But it would be a death sentence…for both of them.

  “You think you know me so well.”

  “Tell me I don’t,” Wes challenged. “We both know what I want, but clearly, you want something, too, or you would already have told Maverick about this. Now I suggest you tell me what it is before I lose interest in this conversation.”

  A smile curled over Blaze’s lips. “I think it’s bull Maverick allowed you to be part of this pack. Had I been packmaster, I would have done you in myself, so you’d never have another chance to be involved in the Wild Eight and their bullshit. But who am I to question Maverick’s judgment?” He leaned against the desk of the control panel and crossed his arms over his chest. “Regardless of that, I don’t think you’re involved with the Wild Eight now. I think you really have gone Grey Wolf, and despite your past, I’ve always liked you. You’re like a lovable bear I can’t help but poke until he shows his fangs.”

  “The feeling isn’t mutual.”

  Blaze’s smile only widened. “I want a favor, Wes.”

  Wes raised an eyebrow. When Blaze didn’t respond, another low growl escaped his lips. He didn’t have time for Blaze’s games. “It must be a helluva favor you need to risk Maverick’s wrath on this. What kind of favor?”

  Blaze’s expression settled into one of serious business. “An open-ended one. You want me to give you my computer access and keep this all hush-hush from Maverick, fine. But I want an open-ended favor. To be cashed in whenever I need it.”

  It was a major leap of faith, to hand himself over to Blaze for whatever and whenever he needed. But annoying as he was, Blaze was far from stupid, and he held the upper hand here. If he sold Wes out to Maverick, the clash of the titans that would ensue would leave the pack bloodied and maimed. It may have been questionable who would win between Wes and Maverick one-on-one, but Maverick had the whole pack on his side.

  Which meant, at the moment, Blaze had outpaced Wes.

  “Fine,” Wes agreed. “But I want you to tell me everything that’s been going on with the Wild Eight and Naomi Evans.”

  Blaze stuck out his hand. “Deal?”

  Wes took his hand and gave it a rough, curt shake. “Deal.”

  Blaze turned back toward his computer screen, typing in his log-in and quickly pulling up the files available on both the Wild Eight and Naomi. “After you told Maverick what happened yesterday, he had me do a search on the satellites in downtown Billings for any Wild Eight members and vampires meeting. There are photos that corroborate that what Kyle told you is true. The Wild Eight are in fact partnered with the vamps. But we think there’s something else they’re hiding. We just don’t know what yet.”

  The sound of Blaze’s fingertips clicking over the keys filled the small room. He jabbed the enter button, and a photo emerged on the screen. It was a night shot, from the looks of it, a dark figure feeding on a dead sheep.

  What had she called it again? Lambie? “That’s Naomi’s ranch.” The dark figure was likely a vampire. But what was it doing feeding on livestock instead of any of the buffet of humans it could take a sip from in Billings? Wes had been asking himself that ever since Naomi told him about her maimed flock in the woods three days earlier. Which meant she had been telling the truth, and he’d doubted her. Shame filled him. He couldn’t hold on to such doubts. Now that he knew the truth, he realized how misplaced such doubt had been. He should have trusted his instincts.

  Blaze nodded. “Maverick had me pull this up when he got back from the western packlands, before he even talked to you.”

  Which meant Maverick had known Naomi’s story was true all along. Wes didn’t need to convince him of Naomi’s innocence, because the bastard had known long before Wes had even pleaded with him to spare her life. No wonder Maverick had given her a chance to prove herself; he’d already known she was no danger to the pack. Wes had chalked it up to Maverick’s compassion toward humans, to his insistence that they follow the ordinances of the Execution Underground, that they go above and beyond, working to protect humanity from both the Wild Eight and the vampires.

  That attitude about their interactions with humanity had been what separated the Grey Wolves and the Wild Eight, what made them into sworn enemies. But if not trying to determine her innocence, why the hoax on Maverick’s part? Why play it off as if her fate was in question? “And what’s Maverick planning to do with this information? What’s his endgame?”

  Blaze laughed. “What do you think he was doing? Keeping you busy with the petty task of babysitting an innocent human. If it had gone as planned, the task would have at least had you tied up two more nights.”

  Wes raged. Maverick, his packmaster, his rival, his one-time enemy, a man he both admired and loathed, had treated him like a dog, throwing him a tasty bone to chew while he called the shots on an enemy hell-bent on taking Wes’s life. The packmaster had gotten the best of him, one-upped him, and Wes had played into it like a fool.

  “He has been gathering recon on her ranch,” Blaze continued. “But there’s been no movement or activity there at all. Not since we’ve been actively monitoring, not that it’s been long. It won’t be more than the additional two nights he promised before he’s forced to admit she’s both innocent and telling the truth and send her home.”

  “You get any more information on this, report it directly to me. Deal?”

  Blaze shook his head. “No go, Wes. This was a one-time deal only.”

  Wes gripped Blaze by the back of his awful Hawaiian shirt, wrenching him to his feet. With his other hand, Wes grabbed the other wolf by the front of his collar. A feral snarl ripped from his throat. “You wan
t open-ended favors, then fine, but that means I expect them in return.”

  Anger simmered in Blaze’s eyes, but he nodded. “Fine. You cover my ass, and I’ll cover yours, brother,” he spat out.

  Wes released him with a small shove. Stepping away from Blaze, he headed toward the exit. “Anything at all on this, and you let me know. Got it?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, and Blaze nodded again.

  His mind clouded with questions, Wes left the control room and Blaze in his wake. He needed to figure out what Maverick’s endgame was. His life depended on it. In more ways than one. To protect himself should the Wild Eight come for him again, and because once he knew, he could take Naomi home.

  He needed her as far away from him as possible. Before history had the chance to repeat itself.

  Chapter 10

  She hadn’t thought this through. Naomi rode up the mountainside on Star’s back. Of all the horses she could’ve chosen, she opted for the palomino mare she’d ridden while herding the wild horses. After all, Wes had identified the mare as Bo’s horse. Since Bo, who had apparently been the Grey Wolf second-in-command until several months ago, was dead, his was the horse least likely to be missed. And she’d need to be as brave—or maybe crazy was the right word—as Wes to attempt to ride Black Jack on her own. Not to mention, Wes might miss the ornery mustang, though she couldn’t imagine why.

  Pulling on the reins, she slowed the mare to a steady mosey. The horse swayed with a gentle rhythm, the weight of the great beast rocking with each hooved step. At first, they’d ridden as fast as the mare could manage, dodging trees and the shriveling autumn undergrowth with ease as Naomi placed as much distance between her and Wolf Pack Run—between her and Wes—as possible. Now, as the forest grew dark, the decrease in pace became necessity. With no trail and the shadows of the trees elongating with each passing minute, Naomi’s view was obscured.

  She’d take her chances with anything if it meant getting back home. She’d find a way to address her vampire problem on her own terms.